


3 Times Mickey Showed Ian He Loved Him (Plus One Time He Told Him So)

by BonitaBreezy



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Complete, M/M, Mickey Uses His Words, Mickey is an honorary Gallagher, Really just fluff, and a bit of domesticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:29:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3611805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonitaBreezy/pseuds/BonitaBreezy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey's a man of action, but every once in a while he has to use his words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 Times Mickey Showed Ian He Loved Him (Plus One Time He Told Him So)

**Author's Note:**

> So I just binge-watched all of Shameless in like a week. That being said, this is obviously my first Gallavich fic and I'm not super confident in my grasp on their voices quite yet. I don't really love this fic necessarily, but we've all got to start somewhere, so it might as well be here. I hope it's at least kind of entertaining. Also, this is unbeta'd so sorry for any mistakes.  
> Set somewhere vaguely between Crazy Love and Carl's First Sentencing.

**1.**

The day started off earlier than Mickey liked.  Ian hadn’t moved when his alarm had started chiming incessantly on their bedside table, so Mickey had switched it off for him and then dragged himself out of bed to hit the bathroom before Debbie could claim it for the next forty-five minutes.  He’d practically shut the door in her face, but it was worth her being pissy if it meant he got a whole minute and a half to himself.  Alone time was a sacred resource in the Gallagher house.

He pissed and brushed his teeth, valiantly ignoring the way Debbie pounded on the door every ten seconds, demanding that he hurry up.  He hardly had the door halfway open before she was pushing past him, as if the bathroom might disappear if she didn’t get in it right that second.  He nearly tripped over Fiona, who was hunched over picking up dirty laundry off the floor.

“Morning, Mickey,” she chirped, suspiciously cheerful.  

She’d warmed up to him a lot recently, probably because of how he’d stepped up to try and take care of Ian, as much as Ian would allow it.  He was pretty sure she, at least, considered him an honorary Gallagher.  Mickey wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or just uncomfortable.

“Morning,” Mickey responded warily.  She threw the fistful of clothes down the laundry chute and turned to smile at him.

“Ian up?” she asked.

“No,” Mickey said, shifting his weight to his other foot, and glancing towards the door of the room he shared with the three youngest Gallagher boys.  He thought of the way that Ian hadn’t budged an inch when the alarm had gone off, his stomach churning with uncertainty. “I don’t know if he will be getting up.”

“Oh,” Fiona said, frowning. “You think it’s gonna be a Bad Day?”  He could hear the capitals, the same way he could hear them when they cheerfully talked about the Good Days.

“Hard to say for sure,” Mickey said, crossing his arms. “Could be he’s just drowsy.  The meds make him foggy.”

“Yeah,” Fiona sighed. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I’ll see if I can get him up,” Mickey promised, turning for the bedroom before Fiona could do something insane like hug him.  They were huggers, the Gallaghers, but the idea alone made Mickey’s skin itch.

“I’m making eggs for breakfast!” she called after him, and he waved a hand at her in acknowledgement.

Ian was still a lump under the white sheets when Mickey entered the room, and his heart sank a bit at the sight.  He’d half-hoped that he’d find Ian flopped out on his back, checking the notifications on his cell phone, or even talking to Liam as he got ready for the day.

“Ian,” Mickey said, and Ian just grumbled quietly. “You gonna get up?”

He didn’t even get a grumble for that question.  He heaved a sigh and raised a foot to nudge at the lump under the covers.  Ian responded by flopping over and wiggling away from Mickey’s probing toes, scooching as far away as the wall would let him.

“Come on, you fucker, you’ve got to work today,” Mickey reminded him.

“Go away,” Ian growled.

Mickey rolled his eyes and reminded himself that Ian was sick, that he wasn’t just being a stubborn prick.  His brain was all fucked up, and it wasn’t his fault.  He’d be out of bed if he could be.  

He left Ian there, knowing there wasn’t anything he could do, and headed downstairs.  The breakfast table was crowded that morning, a bunch of shiny happy Gallaghers chatting amongst themselves, and it was far too daunting to face by himself.  Instead, he filled two plates with eggs and toast and headed back up the stairs.

“Hey,” he said when he got back in the room. “You need to eat and take your meds.”

“Fuck you,” Ian muttered, his face buried in his pillow.

“Fuck _you_ ,” Mickey shot back, climbing on to the bed and giving Ian a not-so-gentle shove. “You want to lay around in bed all day, then fine.  But you’re gonna eat and take your fucking meds.  Now sit up.”

For a minute Mickey thought that Ian would just continue to ignore him, and that he’d have to consider force-feeding, but then he heaved a huge sigh and sat up.  He looked haggard and tired, but he took the plate and shoveled a forkful of eggs in his mouth. He shot Mickey a belligerent look, as if to say, ‘there, happy?’ and chewed.  Mickey took it as the victory it was, though, and hurriedly started opening the pill bottles in case Ian suddenly got less cooperative.

He managed to get Ian to take all his pills and eat about half of the eggs and a bite of toast before he burrowed back under the blankets and refused to respond to anything else.  Knowing it was probably the best that he could hope for, Mickey grabbed Ian’s phone to call his boss.

**2.**

The Gallagher house was unnaturally quiet when Ian got home from work.  Mickey watched from his position on the stairs as his boyfriend peered around the place, like he expected someone to come springing out from underneath the stairs or something and demand to know how he was doing, how he was feeling, was there anything he needed?

Mickey saw his shoulders drop just a bit in relief when no one came at him, and he knew all the bribery he’d gone to to get the Gallaghers out of the house had been worth it.  Debbie had been the easiest.  He’d slipped her thirty bucks for a date with her boyfriend and she’d been out the door before he could finish his sentence.  He’d casually mentioned a dog fighting ring he knew about to Carl, Lip was at school, he’d gotten Kev, who was still a bit terrified that Mickey was going to beat him to death, to take Liam for the night, and it hadn’t taken much to convince Fiona to disappear out to do whatever the fuck it was that Fiona did when she wasn’t taking care of a thousand kids.

“Anyone home?” Ian yelled, flipping on the lights and jumping in surprise when he saw Mickey.  

His surprise quickly made way for affection though, and it took everything Mickey had not to squirm at the undisguised fondness on his face.  Once he’d come out at the Alibi, Mickey had been all in and refused to act ashamed of what they had.  Sometimes it was still hard to remember that it was okay to be so open about it, though.

“Hey, Mick,” he greeted. “Where is everyone?”

“Out,” Mickey said, shrugging as if he didn’t know.

“All right,” Ian said, a little awkwardly, like he thought maybe something was wrong.

“I uh...ordered a pizza,” Mickey offered quickly, standing up a little too fast.  Trust him to fuck up something as simple as a night alone. “And I got a movie from Iggy.  That one you wanted to see, what was it?  The one with the all those action stars?”

“ _The Expendables 3_?” Ian asked, quirking his eyebrows in surprise. “You mean the one you said was “fucking stupid” and that if you wanted to watch washed up old losers beat on each other you’d go bet on bumfights?”

“Yeah, well,” Mickey scowled, shuffling awkwardly. “But you want to see it.”

“I do,” Ian agreed. “But I thought it was still in theaters…”

“Well, it might have some people’s heads in the way of the screen,” Mickey admitted, tossing a jewel case with the burned disc to him. “But Iggy said it was pretty decent quality.  We don’t have to watch it.”

“No, I want to,” Ian assured him, a dopey grin crossing his face.  He leaned forward suddenly, kissing Mickey on the mouth, grin still in place. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Mickey responded, trying his hardest not to look pleased as Ian grabbed him by the hand and dragged him over to the couch.

**3.**

“Mickey Milkovich, you sentimental son of a bitch.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mickey glanced up from the cup he was pouring coffee into to see Ian waggling Mickey’s phone around with a big stupid grin on his face.

“You like me,” Ian told him with a grin.

He lit up the screen to show him the background picture, as if Mickey didn’t know what his own phone screen was.  He’d probably been having an attack of Feelings when he set it, though, since it was a picture of him and Ian, grinning like idiots with the cheeks pressed together.  Ian had taken it and sent it to Mandy nearly a week before, and Mickey had just rediscovered it.  His breath had kind of caught in his chest when he’d seen it, the fond look of love and affection that looked so foreign yet kind of amazing on his own face.  He’d definitely been having some sort of aneurysm when he’d decided to set it though.

“You’re okay,” Mickey grunted, snatching the phone out of Ian’s hand.

“Deny it all you want, but I know you like me,” Ian sang teasingly. “You like looking at my picture and you miss me when I’m not around.”

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Mickey told him flatly, but Ian just kept humming a stupid little tune and making kissy faces at him. “Oh my god, get away from me.”

Ian laughed out loud and planted an overly wet kiss on his cheek before heading off down the hall.  Mickey scowled after him, but after a long moment of contemplation, decided that he’d keep the picture anyway.

**+1.**

It was late by the time Mickey got home.  His cousins had been having some trouble with a few punks from down the way, and he’d had to go help them knock some heads together.  It wouldn’t do to let the Milkovich name get tarnished, after all.  Mickey had worked hard for his shitty reputation.

The whole house was dark and everything was silent.  Even Fiona had gotten home and gone to bed already. He crept through the house as quietly as he could, skipping the loose stair so that it wouldn’t creak under his weight, and slipped into Ian’s room.  Carl was sacked out with his mouth hanging open on the top bunk and Liam was curled into a tiny little ball with his hands tucked under his chin.  Neither of them stirred as Mickey got undressed and slid into bed beside Ian, who was rolled up on his side, his shoulders hunched like he was cold.

Mickey, the doting bastard that he was, made sure to pull the blanket up over his shoulders and tuck it around him a bit more securely.  Ian snuffled softly and shifted a bit at the attention.  His phone, which had apparently been tucked up under his ear as he fell asleep, lit up under his head as he moved.  Mickey stared at if for a minute, wondering who he could have possibly been talking to as he was falling asleep, and scowled at the stab of jealousy that surged through his stomach.

He grabbed the phone, pulling it out from under Ian’s head carefully so as not to wake him up.  Ian shifted and twitched a bit more at the motion but remained asleep.  Mickey glanced at the screen, telling himself it wasn’t snooping if the screen was still lit up by itself.  He was surprised to see that it was open to the voicemail box, specifically on a message labelled “Mick”.  He pressed the replay button and held the phone to his ear.

_“All right shithead,”_ he heard his own voice, incredibly hostile. _“This is like the 200th time I’m calling you and I’m starting to get fucking homicidal.”_

He pulled the phone away from his ear for a second just to frown at it.  Why the hell would Ian fall asleep listening to this shit?  He put it back to his ear just in time to hear his own voice breaking, accompanied by a heavy breath.

_“-rried about you...I_ love _you.  Call me back.”_

He put the phone down quickly, like it had burned him, and then turned to look at Ian.  He was sleeping peacefully, relaxed and still in a way that he couldn’t often manage while he was awake anymore.  His hair was flopped messily over his face, so Mickey reached out and brushed it back gently.

He’d gone to sleep listening to a message that couldn’t bring up many good memories for him, just because it had Mickey’s voice telling him that he loved him.  Mickey knew he wasn’t great with words.  He was more likely to call people names and be an ass than be nice to them.  He was better at showing his affection through actions.  Protecting the people he loved, doing things for them that could slip under the radar.  That phone message was the only time he’d ever told Ian he loved him out loud, and he was feeling strangely guilty about it.

He laid down, stretching out next to Ian, who automatically turned towards him in his sleep, flopping his hair back into his face.  Mickey snorted but didn’t reach out to move it again.  Instead, he settled on his back and stared up at the ceiling.  He knew Ian knew that he loved him.  Ian had known before Mickey had been willing to admit it, had spat the words at him like a weapon, back when everything in Mickey’s life had been going to hell in a handbasket.

Maybe just knowing wasn’t enough.

He didn’t really sleep that night, alternating between dozing, staring at the ceiling, and watching Ian sleep like a giant creep.  He was still awake when Carl got up for school and when Lip came in to get Liam.  It was past nine when Ian finally woke up, grumbling quietly under his breath and burrowing down into the mattress like maybe if he wished hard enough it would swallow him whole.  Eventually, he opened his eyes and smiled sleepily at Mickey.

“You look tired,” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You sleep at all?”

“I love you,” Mickey blurted, kind of hating that he couldn’t be suave and cool about it.

Ian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise for a second, and then he smiled again.  He leaned forward and kissed Mickey on the mouth, morning breath and all.  Mickey didn’t really mind.

“I love you, too,” Ian said, pulling away just for a moment before kissing him again, harder and with intent.  Mickey groaned low in his throat as Ian rolled to rest firmly on top of him, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s back to hold him close.

Mickey wasn’t great with words.  But maybe he could manage to say how he felt.  For Ian.  Every once in a while.

 

 


End file.
